inadequate_beauty_ending_edenfandomcom-20200213-history
Corrupting Factor
Standing atop the shoulders of shimmering magnificence // ''Each blessed titan strikes a dagger of pure energy into the stars // The sparks from their huge, smouldering strength dancing // R''ipping through reality, enslaving the ruins of ancient hope'' // Glowing spots of light sprouted, forges of knowing // The buds of flowers, every spark shattered against the surfaces // Bacterium flock and die, bending and yelping under perfection // For these are the beacons of the specie, the Ican '' // S''keletal storms // Tides of building and falling chaos bites and feeds upon itself // The beginnings of those seven species '' // ''The cracks in their souls wracked behind such blinding brightness // For the truest heights of beauty shall come // When only hands are stretched out in unison // There are four '' One as every mandible of the ultimate creation // Eight to be the truest species // Though now there are seven chosen, trillions await // Scraps of wastage and horror // Hungering for their time in the light of EilTeenKray '' // ' Without mercy the war and destruction has begun // A rampage of hooves and fangs beckoning for slaughter // To be together is to find the light in grief // Uncountable ages of tolling and revolution are calling // Until all shall tear asunder below the Awe Above '' // ''Then the Eight must be ready // Prepared now for the song of the All-Chronicler '' // ''The end is a blinding unknown but with Eight '' // ''The strength to hold the cage of that insanity is caught // Endlessly now the breakages of each shall coarse // Through '' // ''each blood line and every breath // Bleating out a dream of hope // A call for the saviour and the Blessing of the Partner // The rainbow children need a parent // But for each parent another child is desperately called // They are made to destroy '' // A''nd defend against the assaults ''The Eighth is a soul of backward unknown // A rabid dreamer of some other creation // From the bowels of hatred and decay // Its hands are reaching out // One must latch on while all of nature calls to run A poem from the Chroniclers age of songs The Furnace they share [Drarcornian ] From the connective tissue of a shared suffering with the Sheik they have launched outward into mountainous beings wielding the strength of the furious storms they are so connected to. When first they saw the enemies of the high realm there was no fear lost in their being stuck to the earth they are so rooted to, instead they forged a fire of resistance and embattled strength held as they looked into the eyes of those they had called master for so long. Within those deep and tar-ridden eyes they look to another battle-brother that was constantly equal finally after they had grown to obsess over huge combat. No matter where they lived and existed conquest and pain is the nature of every section of their being from the start of an ashen birth continually into their flaming death after centuries of progress and forging of the very best soldiers they can be. They are the sleekest and most dangerous forms that can ever be seen within the universe now, and though the Hansheik can take the toll of any onslaught they are not capable of pursuing those enemies again, as with most species they are contained within rank and hierarchy this is the antithesis to the Drarcornian . They are the people that would be perfectly happy to fall onto a planet of destruction as the only one of their own being and battle simply to find victory, not eating or resting until the very end of whatever target is presented in front of them, a constant whiplash forcing them to comply as always only to their individual drive. Physically then they are without any frivolity that could catch or be infected in war, lacking any subtlety within stealth or the language to bargain, you are either with them or against them. In such simplicity there is an exoskeleton seemingly made of great steel inflexibly, breakages simply crumbling into new forms of connection as a skin as tough as reinforced rubber that if ever there was a strike that struck between the huge plates of armour would be bound under flesh and repaired over. They are not bodies that will look for comfort or beauty, valour and worth contain value and so cracks and tears will flash over their forms, eyes with diseases that would have been cut out in the simplest fashion, the battle to continue with whatever sense was left. Their power is grave and huge, fused with the every world around them they are the greatest images of any strength onto the world they are already a part of, inescapably discovering that even if they are hurtled into a star still they may come back with a flurry of furious flames and bring down the entirety of their enemy absolutely from the smallest harm. Though they are the greatest forges of power it is likely you will ever see they are incapable of thinking toward the abstract ideas or the concepts of a less merciless race then if you try to engage a concept of peace or mercy to them only emotion can be where complicated understanding of their situation might be, engineering of great tools where others might try to invent a new source of power. They have the most practical link to the world and so if those who are within higher intelligence will witness their manipulations are absolute and the destruction of their spirit is impossible they can find no greater joy then the destruction of those who are seen as wrong will find their strength to utterly decimate all that stand in front of them, with an anger that shall rip itself through the entirety of their cages or the world on which they stand, every single stride of their own movements seeping such negative emotions into their bloodstream as so many millennia of being enslaved and knocked down to tiny forms brings out the possibility of complete decimation. Such an energy though if the opportunity arises, they cannot step out of being basic though if even the most impossible objective is possibly presented to them then the result will be that generations knowing of the same drive shall push to the end and in this if you have one of these beings you know that a war can continue for eternity as long as reality exists or they see a conclusion to the end of this. The very worst expression though of such a powerful forge is that there is always the need to become those who are encompassed in being stuck in that wave of having to destroy all that is near them, the sheer tide of that need to bend all under their own muscularity will witness the fall of their own spirit. Though they know nothing of the worlds of higher thoughts they suffer without being capable of expressing it through the influence of others more powerful than them, they will find that pain and the toll of days does not push into them but only hits itself whenever the time comes for unrest as they are capable of feeding into the very energy of the worlds below them, even the smallest fragment of wind thrusting itself into them as they walk forward leaving all those who have not forced them to help behind, if you are weak and only weak then the need for any connection to you shall have no need for such closeness because they will calculate their value against and easily know that such hindrances are not good enough for them to live with, abandoning anything that cannot bring them strength. Though they may have laws and rankings more complicated than most military cultures in humanity they are still living without honour for victory as they pursue an act of victory through whatever sacrifice possible is the only way to be grand, if they are to retreat or be left alive in loss then they are the lowest who must only come back to the realms of progress with the others of their group witnessing an act of magnificence, and so the very creation of rivers from the great pools of purity upon the spine of Drakgoon was created by one such wanderer aeons ago. '' The Higher Vision Eisalaeinuit'' They have been the most vulnerable race of all time and though their wars have been sacrificing their own bodies for the wish to purify themselves as members of the universe in totality, for through their vision the deep connection to the universe they have where every impact or anything in all that surrounds them easily, the huge lights of any conflict or act independently discovers each vein of being falling from the tiniest step. The majority of Eisalaeinuit glow with the innate fuel of the universe pulsing through them, the only specie that can not only see the blood of EilTeenKray flows through them but powerfully prove it by voyaging to that realm and being one too close to all that is distantly linked to them also being as close as possible. If you were ever to battle one of these frail beings you would find that not only do they break under the smallest impact but they struggle to simply see, instead feeling out to the world around them, if they touch a surface or breathe the air in their gripping and hungry pores find that armies turn into one odd and combined image, their entire pattern of moving viewing similar to the flow of a single man. Groups form into one great beast and in the massive logic they shall find that at only 11 feet they are whispers of mind in compassion to the great behemoth monsters that great battlegrounds of the world have. Time for their perspective is not a constant, bending and warping around the grandeur of legends still wondering ruins they have long since escaped in death, they do not see this conclusion as the end though the great enlightenments given to them long ago, and so though for the humans there may be only one assassin in the scraps of a burnt forest, the Eisalaeinuit would see the screaming shade of a madman centuries ago combining with that real killer would bring a greater fear. They cannot act without dedication toward victory, calculating every cost that could be felt strongly, not fading any intimacy with the world they can easily see as falling if defeat could be the only end, and retreating in trillions the strange spiritual ghostly forms have abandoned worlds on the approach of catastrophe, knowing without doubt they would fall if they stayed and as they are not prepared to learn as they do when they wish recoil in fear toward the unknown. The higher realm is of course a fanfare of war but if those Eisalaeinuit became dreamers toward that new challenge then they are purposeful enough to shape that world for some need they have already known or shall build themselves from nothing. For any race of mortals the very easy tasks for them is the miracle, and they were placed in lives as the gift of blessing itself welcoming of all thoughts and growths, for hundreds of millennia discovering they are happily distracted by purifying al that is around them, even the tiniest consensus fragment once they have sniffed it the trial is a hungry one, feverish and crazed the cure is the only end and with that the reality all should comply to. For this to try and manage even one of those beings is to grip a slimy fish, attempting to craze the translucent film of their skin only brings back the harshness of their constantly balanced toward the infinity within the past and possibilities of the future too. Not only can they see your birth but every occasion of your story, though without resistance they will look for the entire song sheet you are calling from, culture and race, family and fantasy all coagulating into the summary of your nature and something they can only destroy when all is completely correct. You cannot anger their wide face, the passive form of glassy steadiness as if a cliff face had been ripped into through some acidic waves as they are the only forms that can choose when to wander into death and when it is appropriate to absorb the pain of some assault as they simply consider the toll of being hurt for now as the muscle that may bring about higher strength, finding the trillions of their ancestors still singing from the beyond to understand their place in the universe or anything of the history of even the most mysterious face they are presented with. Instinctively they are connected to the winds and life-blood of EilTeenKray as the world continues to flow eternal strength through it, whenever there is a grief in reality they are likely to experience and become a part of such pain, incapable of escaping that link finding it impossible to connect to the physical world in front of them as they could just as easily shatter the world they stand upon if the cost was worthwhile. If there is some rule in the universe that has caused you to buckle under a barrage of these multiple minds fornicating toward an order and perfection that can never be met, feeding into their own bodies and minds in this same hope with the beckoning of higher reality and that crazed order as an alternative to the chaotic and insect-like fidgeting of the mortal specie, for when they first witnessed the Bwef-Laeil the image they had been expecting would have been pushed out of the screaming Aurora of Belethia herself and whenever the two species have met together this crafting of that graceful and majestic beauty has become the calling of their partnership. Crazed Enslavement [Humanity ] Originally this was a specie forced as the experimentation field, placed within a wilderness far from anything of might and within enough time lost to the destruction of its own black hole. There was no need for this world to push itself from the slumbers of darkness and ignorance, an unknowable mass of others spent eternity in just the same reality, only ever seeing the shards of some miraculous beauty unknowing at the huge potential out there standing outside of the permitted and only as the playthings of the truly mighty. A shattered bone from one great being of light from the very first breaths of the universe encircled the dumb world for millennia as a meteor, hoping that maybe something would come out of the ugly mass and present itself clearly for it to build upon, some mutant to throw into the stars and frolic around with until the call of Ica became too much and the ranks of that great invention slowly fused it to the marching of the faithful. As it sprinted past again, slowly losing hope as more and more shimmering scraps of it faded from its great tail, knowing that soon enough another of these lands would have to be victim instead, yet still it stuck, staring through the great poisonous smog and yet still sighting nothing desperation overtook. Easily sliding outside of the systems forces, it sidestepped that same accelerated ring around the Sun and forward to life at its beginning. This though was a being of time, never able to comprehend why the world was so different with each passing it had not noticed that where once there was a clear sky of silver this was a smouldering cauldron and with each flicker of light further the time dragged itself backward, the radiation pouring out and calling on the horrors of the universe to find this rare gem under such contortions, yet with every tempting call throwing the very beauty those beasts would search for back a few millennia, dragging scraps of nature and force with it into a haven that had been crafted seemingly perfectly for the end of the first lights of man. Those rhythmic lights pulsed finally into the emptiness of Earth with its moon and in the violent chaos of a struggling land bacteria spouted from the fragility of life that sphere clung to, the beginnings of life the mortals would remember and yet forever cursing them with a layer of consciousness and being they had simply not been built for. The horrors and grief of that first age are known in the tales of the Bleeding sky as magic tore itself from them out of its own natural disgust with the body that sweated around it, ugly and drooping the corpses which remained from the shattering war with the first lash of Valhalka destroyed themselves in the fire and though some bounded out of the disaster there would be little for them to find of hope except for in the fragility of a distant calling. For centuries these oddities would wander through the world though soon enough the might of the machines would come and enslave their bounding energy. At the very start being unnaturally gifted brought about a sea of hating enemies, Valhalka and Vexinay both unknowing as to how such a form could come about and yet both sharing the same fascination that in fact this body had to be squashed and digested for their own numbers. Forever the frail form of man had been marked as a plaything for the higher, but now the strength in them had come to gift those powers with the joy of finding a greater challenge filled with fuel and growing beyond the scope of a disease into the very dens of your territory you thought sacred. They are the defilers and though the universe has dreamed of their end the times appear again and again where a desperation and cruelty far beyond anything of pure commanding power brings out a victory from the very scraps of anything they could bring about. The Gods this specie has invented have come from nothing, they have glowed and fallen through the very concepts of the written word so that as time pushes forward and more of the universe becomes defined there is no reality where the majority are not left enslaved by the powerful to die and lose forever if the end result may be the improvement of the greatness that is in shadowed with such an incredible devout sacrifice. The powerful have known this, and long in the ancient tomes of mankind as an island sat alone and worshipping of the great birds a Drarcornian approached knowing that absolute worship would be his world for the coming years. Disgust and the very end of that race boomed from such a huge tide of greatness, and yet without mercy the Drarcornian chuckled in the swallowing flames. The mystifying strength of those natural beings which choke hundreds of them in one stride instead forged a mechanisation of weaponry and machinations far above the natural in the exploring wish for the dream to stand anywhere near those they have met through the mysterious gawping and into everything that can stretch their minds above the lowest solider they can command again to be launched into every sacrifice the commanders themselves can create too, happily witnessed in the corpses slowly they have learnt and perfected toward the grandest Godly wanderings. The Merciless Hunger [Sheik ] The world of Trarlarsh is a land of chaotic digestive forests and fires that reach through the volcanoes of the deep north and down into the forests and maddened deserts below it, a land where everything is seemingly built to devour and destroy anything that stands in the way of existence, the very powers of Ica and lower powers from the dawn of creation endlessly churning out horrors and beauties beyond the comprehension of even a Trarlarsh to log and communicate with. Though the hope always in their desperate civilisations is to tame these mighty beasts there is simply no method for enslaving powers that can reach through the furnaces of the world below them and into the enemies that approach. There are deep valleys stuck into the land of the north from the hopeful migrations all attempt to find food and riches beyond the bareness of the below worlds, where to cling to the very edges of life and continue the hunt is the only drive that keeps them pushing forward. The grandest lie any race including the broken Uhn from the aeons of destitution before the evil was contained would not hide from the fact these are beasts wildly hungering for the hunt and worshipping the energy and force of being stuck within such a force, happily ingested by the addiction of a beating heart that runs far above their normal sight. This realm of chaos and feeding is the birthplace of the first Trarlarsh, the tearing horrifying unnatural bending of the energies around it sucked into a tumbling mindless organic mass of need, though still sitting at the purest of hearts as the flow of EilTeenKray still bleeds down the rivers from their magnificent journey out of the mires of enslavement and torture into a world of natural might without thinking they attach to without mercy. These beings have never looked to the stars and wandered at the glory and power which could be gifted to them on their victories, so huge is their lands with the gracefully glowing moons that while the corruptive winds of Ascan flowed still the energy and tenacity to cling on and fight forever more stuck to each of them, without needing to communicate the hugeness of this connection clawed itself into every new born to stick to the welcoming tribe and hope that further victories may welcome it into the world. It is not a war of hatred or conquering but simply the endless fidgeting energy of hunger clawing at their insides and awaiting the next unleashing lash of energy. They do not live in the discipline and order of the Eisalaeinuit nor the grand muscularity of the Drarcornians but they make up for it by having no code of conduct or care, whenever there is any weakness shown from even the closest lover still the biting fangs shall close on that throat and the addictive nectar of more life would become their own play thing. To fight an enemy is to combine the minds of all these beings, even in the grief of Ascan there were months when a greater plaque would arrive and though Ascan had stood as the being who tempted the whispering sands to unleash themselves still for the protection of all every beast and natural being combined into one great filter, each taking a little of the suffering without grimace and all the world remaining healed and as close as if the Shee were already dead and feeding into the land instinctively, though still they coursed through one another.